


Pandora

by queennymerias



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games), Call of Duty Modern Warfare
Genre: Angst and Romance, Bodyguard Romance, Bodyguard/First Lady, F/M, Game: Call of Duty, Game: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (2019), Implied/Referenced Cheating, Pre-Canon, President/First Lady, Reader-Insert, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queennymerias/pseuds/queennymerias
Summary: It's then you see him in a different light.He's no longer the stoic secret service agent walking quietly behind you, nor is he the confidant you had taken solace in as he listened to you with genuine interest. Instead, you realize that he's exactly what you've been craving--both physically and emotionally. And suddenly nothing else matters.Nothing but you and him.Alex (Echo 3-1)/Reader.
Relationships: Alex (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare)/Reader, Reader/Other(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	1. Pandora

When someone from the CIA reached out to him through his superiors, he found himself at a loss for words. At first, he assumed that he had done something wrong, but when his commanding officer came to him with a frown on his face, he knew it was something else entirely. 

In his years with the military, he rarely was disciplined for not following orders, and it’s been something many in his company brought to his attention. The “Golden Boy” they had called him, though it was all in good fun. 

He scratches an invisible itch on his beard, frowning when he realizes it’s long overdue for a proper shave. So, instead, he opts to inspect the office from his seat across from the agent in charge. Kate Laswell pays no mind and instead carries on with her current task of thumbing through endless manila folders. No doubt in his mind that she had pulled up his files. 

From what he can tell, it’s a small office though she’s taken the time to somewhat personalize it to let everyone know exactly who she was. Her degrees sat perfectly on the wall each aligned next to the other in glass frames. Her scarf, thrown carelessly, hangs from its perch atop her file cabinet. In the corner of her office sits a lone plant beside the window in back of her, and he doesn’t doubt that it's been neglected for some time. The green color faded long ago from lack of water or proper sunlight. Bookcases stand firmly to the wall on his right with dozens upon dozens of books neatly lining the three sets of shelves from within. When his eyes turn to her desk, he finds that no picture frames sit upon it, though he supposes that’s not exactly out of the ordinary for her. 

He remembers the pictures of his own family that he has stuffed into the depths of his footlocker. They were mostly from his childhood, but even then, they provided him with some sort of comfort in knowing he had a family to go back to. A smile forms on his lips beneath his mustache as his family comes to mind. 

He was from the Midwest, having grown up as the second son among a family of six. His older brother, Ryan, was in the military though he preferred the marines rather than the army life he had grown accustomed to. His younger brother, Tommy, opted to become a school teacher while his only sister, Melissa, was still in college studying to become a surgeon. It had been days since his last correspondence with his mother and father, and upon remembering this, he makes a mental note to write a letter later chronicling his day to day activities. No doubt his mother was probably already beside herself with worry.

Laswell thumbs through the folder in front of her as her eyes scan through each paper, still not paying him any mind as he sat there across from her. It had been this way for the past ten minutes, and yet he waited until she was ready. He had come to know the station chief through mutual acquaintances, and even then, she had expressed interest in recruiting him for the CIA and their Special Activities Division. He wasn’t sure at first about wanting to leave the military life, but he supposed this would be his opportunity to advance further; to not stay in one area for too long. 

This position would grant him the chance to do so. 

“You gonna tell me what this is about?” He finally asks while gripping his ankle as it sits upon his knee. 

Laswell’s eyes quickly flicked up to meet his. “I’m trying to make sure your skill set matches my criteria.” Before he has a chance to ask, her eyes are drawn back to the papers now scattered in front of her. 

He frowns. “Okay.” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he raises a brow in question. “Is this on a need to know basis?” 

She looks at him again while setting the paper down to give him her undivided attention. “A serious concern has been raised.” She lets the statement sit with him for a moment before she continues. “A concern that I cannot ignore, and I believe it’ll only be a matter of time before this ticking time bomb explodes before we can really act.” Laswell levels him with a look he’s only seen only once before. When the woman was serious about something, it was hard for her to shake her resolve on it. It was one of the things he came to respect about her. When Laswell needed something done, **she** got it done. 

“What exactly are we talking about?” 

Her lips purse into a thin line as she leans forward. “National security. _From within_.” 

His eyebrow quirks at the heavy emphasis, noting the serious tone in her voice. “What do you need me to do?” 

For a moment, Laswell appears relieved at his eagerness to comply, but as quickly as it came it’s gone as she straightens up in her seat. 

“This is gonna be the first of many missions involving deep cover, but this is gonna be a little different. No one, save for myself and a few select agents, will know you’re in cover. You'll have a completely new identity.” She then slides a green folder his way to which he hastily picks it up. “Here comes the hard part.” His blue eyes flash to her as a deep frown sets on his brow. “You’ll surrender your former rank with the military as well as your military service.” Their eyes remain locked on each other as she continues. “And you’ll no longer be able to contact any and all family members. Starting today, your former life is over.” 

He does his best to conceal the surprise from his features, choosing instead to open the file in his lap in order to read its contents. His eyes dance around the pages and pictures provided to him when his eyebrows furrow at what he’s reading. With each turn of the page, he finds himself being met with the same information and suddenly he understands the secrecy and the need for anonymity. _The need to be a ghost_. 

When he glances up, he’s met with Laswell’s piercing stare. “We’re talking about the President.” It’s not a question but more a statement at the given facts. 

“That’s right.” 

“He was just sworn in.” He remembers the inauguration that happened only months prior, and even though he didn’t vote for President Fitzgerald, he remembered the endless campaign ads and his and his wife’s faces plastered everywhere he turned. It was hard not to notice the biggest election of the year despite his disinterest in politicians. 

Laswell raises a brow in return. “Months ago. But there’s a lot you can accomplish in just that short amount of time.” He places the folder back on the table and her eyes follow the movement. When she looks up, she finds that he’s still staring at the folder. No doubt going over the reasons as to why she placed this operation in front of him. “I believe you’re the only one who can pull this off. Your service in spec ops proves that.” She places a manicured finger on top of the folder. “It won’t be easy, but you already know that. This task will make or break your career if you want to find yourself a part of the special activities division.” 

“By posing as a secret service agent.” His voice remains steady, but quiet as he realizes the task before him. “On the First Lady’s detail no less.” 

She gives him a leveled look before she says, “I need to know your answer.” 

His mind was spinning at the newfound information. The missions he had partaken in so far had been minimal, but none of them compared to what lies in store for him. Though he read the documents pertaining to the mission—titled _Operation Showstopper_ —he still couldn’t piece together what exactly Laswell expected of him. Everything within the file had been vague with nothing that offered more information on what exactly he was supposed to find. 

And yet he knew, before he even entered her office, that he couldn’t walk away from this. It wasn’t out of some misplaced sense of pride or intimidation from her. No, it was simply the fact that he agreed to accept whatever they asked of him without question. 

He would follow orders whenever given without hesitation. 

Before Laswell could repeat herself, he leans forward, and with a small nod says, “I’m in.” 

\---- 

It's nearly half-past six when you open your eyes and allow them to adjust to the rays of the rising sun flickering into your room. 

You lay there unmoving and contemplating whether you want to will yourself out of bed. Most days it seems like it’s easy to get up, while other days, you lay in bed for just a while longer. 

Today happens to be that day. 

It's hard to really understand what has you feeling this way considering your agenda will keep you busy and away from _him_. You close your eyes, trying to block out his face and not wanting to remember how you ended up in this situation. It had been so easy back then. 

When you first met him, he was charming, charismatic and quite endearing that you found yourself easily succumbing to him. It was different; _he_ was different. When he decided to run for the presidency you were right there with him supporting him every step of the way. Sure, you allowed yourself to be blinded by the glamour of the office and thought that things would be different once he won, but things don’t always go as planned. And that’s how you learned about it the hard way. At this moment you realize just how power can corrupt even the purest of hearts. 

You had given up your career with the CIA for him; for you foolishly thought it would never backfire in such a way. You never thought you would come to regret it as you embraced the idea of becoming the first lady so openly. You fought tooth and nail for him, and though you know deep down he’s appreciative of what you had sacrificed, you’re also aware of the fact that he’s had his finger in just about every pie imaginable. 

You didn’t mean to come upon the information, and you were surprised to find that he would even allow himself to be involved like this. Yet the papers you had found suggested what you feared, so much so that he was risking national security in order to smooth the ruffled feathers of those whose toes he stepped on. You wanted to believe he was better than this, but the more you read the papers, the more your anger burned. Why he left such sensitive information in your room, you still hadn’t a clue, but he figured you wouldn’t have gone snooping through his suit pockets. 

Perhaps that was it. 

You take a collective breath and allow it to pass through your nose out of frustration. Why exactly had you decided to go through his things? 

It was a concern you immediately brought to your old superior, knowing that she would do what she could to get to the bottom of it. But that had been weeks ago, and Laswell remained radio silent. 

A knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. “Ma’am?” The voice of your assistant calls to you as you pull yourself out from under the covers. 

“It’s open, Joan.” 

The door opens to reveal a blonde woman with a kind smile. She's about as old as you are, perhaps even more so by a couple of years. Her petite frame stands unsurely in the doorway as her green eyes flicker from you to your closet. You know all too well she’s still adapting to your way of handling everything yourself. She was brought on as your personal assistant on your predecessor's suggestion; the former first lady mentioning that although Joan seemed aloof with her head in the clouds, she was very much capable of handling your day to day affairs. You agreed, and so far, you found her to be nice albeit too anxious when it came to allowing you to do things yourself. 

“The president said he’d like you to join him for breakfast.” Joan takes a tentative step forward into your bedroom with her hands folded neatly in front of her. “He had the chef make your favorite.” 

You repress the need to roll your eyes and instead opt to give her a small smile. “Tell him I'll be down soon.” That usually ended the discussion, but she doesn’t seem to move from her spot. 

“Joan?” You raise a brow in question. 

She smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, ma’am. He wanted me to make sure you wore the outfit he’d picked for you.” 

_Of course_ , you roll your eyes but make sure to quickly flash her a smile all the same. _Asshole_. 

“I’ll be sure to do that,” you say, keeping your voice calm despite wanting to snap although you know full well your assistant isn't the one to blame. “Tell him I'll be down soon. All dressed up.” 

She returns your smile with an apologetic one of her own as she turns to leave. Once the door shuts behind her, you promptly pick up your pillow and fling it into the nearest dresser. 

“He has his goddamn nerve!” You seethe as you run your hand over your face. 

When it came to what outfits you decided to wear, he usually never had a say in it. He always trusted your judgment no matter what it was you picked out. The only time your husband really put in his two cents was when it came to certain people who had a type of influence over his public image. That’s when he wanted you to really dress to impress so to speak, for he knew very well that most, if not all people, favored you over him. 

That had been no secret, for everyone knew (even those in his own campaign) he would’ve never made it this far had it not been for you. 

\---- 

The suit itself wasn’t at all bad, you had to admit. 

The color—though it wouldn’t have been your first choice—flattered you in almost all aspects of your appearance. You perhaps could’ve done away with the pencil skirt altogether, but you figured he was really trying to make an impression on whoever would be visiting the White House. The blouse was chiffon and matched the suit perfectly while the jacket seemed to fit a little too snug on the arms. Removing the jacket altogether you toss it on the nearby chair for the time being as you worked to pin your hair back. The length never gave you much trouble whenever you pulled it back into a bun, but even then some of the strands would manage to stick out no matter how many times you smoothed them into place. Carefully, you place the pin of the American flag on the blouse just above your left breast, and when all is said and done you will yourself to look into the mirror. 

What little makeup you put on barely hid the dark circles around your eyes, and when you smiled at yourself, you found it hard to believe it. Your lips were pulled so tightly together that it made your smile look ingenuine. It was a complete contrast to the confident woman who stood by the President-Elect's side only months prior. You sigh, turning to retrieve your jacket before you head for the doorway.

As you make your way down the stairs, you notice the mansion is particularly busy this morning with members of your husband’s cabinet making an appearance as you pass them. They each turn and immediately greet you to which you merely give them a smile as you make your way to the dining room. 

The agents of the secret service are scattered about the first floor, and as you pass, you make it a point to greet them. Most of them give you a warm greeting in return, but for some of them, they simply nod their heads and go about their business. You couldn't blame them, you hardly spoke to them since you moved in.

It's only moments later you arrive in the dining room and find your husband reading the paper as a plate of food sits untouched before him. As soon as you enter, he looks up from whatever it was he was reading to give you a smile. Though if it’s for you or because you chose to wear what he picked out, you aren’t entirely sure. 

“Good morning.” 

“Morning.” You make your way to him and quickly kiss his cheek in greeting before sitting down. 

He regards you for a moment as he sets aside the newspaper in favor of his breakfast. “That suit fits you well.” His tone is cheerful for the most part as he once again eyes you from head to toe clearly proud of himself.

“You always did like me in this color.” You smile, making sure to divert his suspicion on your sudden avoidant behavior. “It must be very important if you wanted me to wear _this_.” 

“What do you mean by ‘this’?” He asks with a grin. His words are teasing, and you try your best to play along with him like you used to. 

“You know exactly what, Richard.” You pick into your food, scooping it up with the fork as it reaches your lips. The taste is overwhelming though in the best way possible and it's almost enough to make you forget about everything wrong in your life. 

Richard cuts into his pancakes as he says, “I know the skirt is hit or miss with you, but I can’t help it if I enjoy looking at your legs.” 

With an eye roll, you sip your drink, hoping to finish before you had to drag out another unnecessary conversation. 

He stuffs his mouth with a forkful of pancakes, chews thoughtfully for a minute, and swallows before he says, “We got a new agent replacing the head of your detail. Someone with far more experience in handling tense situations.” 

Your gaze flickers to him. “What happened wasn’t his fault.” Your defensive tone doesn't go unnoticed by him, but he doesn't react to it.

Richard shrugs. “I beg to differ.” His eyes meet yours, and you can see the amount of care in them for you. “That was too close.” 

You reach up to rub the back of your neck as your heart drops to think of what became of the last agent in charge. He was a good man, and he couldn’t have known that the situation would escalate as quickly as it did. Wesley Davidson was older than Richard by a few years, but the man had at least fifteen years being with the secret service. He was quiet but kind, and ever observant of his surroundings. You supposed that's why you two got along well. He rarely spoke as did you, and the silence that followed was always a comfortable one between you and the older agent. You suddenly frown upon remembering the accident you had been involved in. The hand from your neck drops to your lap as your fingernails lightly scratch at your thigh. Though the skirt conceals it, you know the scar is still fresh from the accident. Almost as if it has a mind of its own, it throbs beneath your touch which only causes your frown to deepen. 

He saved your life at the cost of his job. 

“This one comes highly recommended,” Richard continues, not seeming to notice how quiet you’ve gotten. “He’s got excellent marksman skills.” You roll your eyes as a hint of a smile touches your lips. “Some military experience, I think, and he’s multilingual. A real winner.” The words are far from genuine as though he could care less about the agent’s other skills. That or he seems to be bothered about something else entirely about him.

“If you’d let me carry a gun, I wouldn’t have to worry about agents watching my every move.” You make it a point to look right at him as you say it and notice the way his shoulders tense from the very suggestion. 

Richard scoops up the remaining bits of hash brown on his plate, taking his time in doing so. “That wouldn’t be wise.” He says finally meeting your gaze with a pointed look as he shoves the fork in his mouth. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to start this topic again. To open up the can of worms so he could close the discussion on it. You couldn't recall how many times you two argued over this topic, and although you stressed to him the importance of carrying a gun, he flat out refused to entertain the idea. _How will it look to the American people seeing their First Lady strapped with a gun?_ He had said which always caused you to end the discussion before you could argue with him further.

Repressing the urge to start a fight on this again, you instead wave a hand dismissively. “We’re not going there.” You take another sip of your drink, and before he could make another remark you say, “You know I was an agent once, and that I’ve handled more guns than you ever had in your entire life.” 

He looks as if he's about to retort before he's cut off completely. “Mister President, Mrs. Fitzgerald.” 

Both you and Richard glance away from each other as the head agent of the White House detail enter the dining room. You’re not entirely sure whether he notices the tension that clings heavily to the room, but he seems to disregard it as he smiles warmly at you. You came to know him as Naveen Bhatti. Unlike his usual stoic demeanor to those outside the White House, to the president, and you, in particular, he’s anything but that. Agent Bhatti greeted you warmly when you both entered the White House, and you’ve come to regard him fondly whenever he’s around. He's Richard's age with styled jet black hair peppered with grey hair and a beard to match. His deep tan skin matches his eyes which are bright and alert. 

Agent Bhatti nods to you both before clearing his throat. “I have the agent assigned to Mrs. Fitzgerald’s detail. Whenever you’re ready, sir.” It’s then you notice for the first that he isn’t alone. 

In a flash, the tension leaves his shoulders as Richard gives them that annoying white-toothed smile. “Perfect timing! Now’s better than never.” He gestures for them to come in while your gaze sits upon the stranger beside the agent. 

Seeming to notice your sudden attention, the man beside Naveen passes you a glance in return as he gives you a nod. He's perhaps around the same age as you, or even older by a few years. Much like Naveen, he's also wearing the standard uniform of a secret service agent; a white-collared shirt, black tie, black slacks, and a jacket to match though you notice he doesn't appear to want to wear the jacket, unlike Naveen. Instead, he has it draped neatly over one tattooed arm while the other hangs loosely at his side. Upon noticing his tattoos, your eyebrows shoot up, wondering where exactly Naveen had even pulled this guy from. His dark blonde hair is cut short into a fade hairstyle that’s often popular among men. His beard is trimmed neatly along with his mustache that shares the same color as his hair. His blue eyes appear confident, but at the same time, that confidence doesn’t seem to go to his head. His eyes never waver the entire time you're inspecting him, and when you glance back up to meet his gaze you find that they're still very much locked on you.

You look away as you busy yourself with the rest of your food. 

“This is Special Agent Alexander...” Your thoughts suddenly drift despite Naveen introducing the new agent in charge of your detail. It was hard to keep focus because all you could think about while looking at your husband was the fact that he remained perfectly calm. The hand that had been in your lap clenches the longer you stare at him, and you’re not entirely sure if it’s from anger or annoyance. Perhaps it was a bit of both. For him to sit so calm, so unbothered by anything despite the deeds he has done was insulting to the office he swore to uphold.

You suddenly blink in surprise when he turns to you, and for a split second, your heart drops as he gives you a look with an eyebrow raised. When your gaze shifts from him to Naveen it’s then you realize all three men are looking at you. 

“Oh,” you say, your face growing warm with embarrassment. “I’m sorry I was so lost in thought.” 

Richard seemed as if he was about to retort before Naveen cuts him off. “That’s alright, ma’am.” The agent offers a smile while your husband leans his face on his hand. Boredom itched ever so clearly on his features as he waits for Naveen to repeat himself. “I was just asking if you’d like to join us while I give Alex a tour of the White House?” 

That was exactly what you wanted to do. You didn’t think you would be able to tolerate Richard's presence any longer least you say something you might regret. “Wonderful! Let’s go.” As you stand up abruptly, your husband begins to follow suit before you hold up a hand to stop him. “Finish your breakfast. It won’t take that long.” 

His face looks as if he was readying a retort, but instead, the words seem to die on his tongue as he relinquishes and sits back down. “If you insist.” 

A smile forms on your lips though it doesn’t reach your eyes, and without another word, you turn to follow the two agents out of the dining area before he could have a chance to say anything more. 

\--- 

Alex had been a name that stuck with him since childhood. 

It was different from his birth name, but it was something simple and subdued. A name that didn’t make anyone look twice. He chose it in memory of an elementary school friend who he was no longer in contact with. Laswell had accepted the alias without hesitation, and he supposed it was because she was relieved he’d accepted this mission at all. 

As he takes in his surroundings it’s hard not to notice the historical importance being in the White House had to him. It was his first time being here, and while he wished he was merely on a tour, he supposed being shown around by the head agent and first lady was a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

Alex's attention is drawn to you once again as you walk beside him, and he notices how much more relaxed you seemed now as opposed to before. Either Naveen was used to it, or he hadn’t noticed the tension as soon as they walked in. It was hard to miss with the president looking bothered and you mirroring that with an annoyed expression of your own. As Naveen had droned on about Alex’s credentials, the president looked as if he was trying to be invested while you seemed to space out in favor of glaring at him. His keen eye to detail and body language was another favored skillset that Laswell appreciated.

He wasn’t sure whether you knew the full details of what the president had gotten himself into but, under Laswell’s direct orders, he wasn’t allowed to mention anything least he blows his cover. 

“I was a big fan of the speech you gave back in Los Angeles,” Alex says with a smile as you turn to look at him. “It was remarkable.” 

For a moment, it appears as though you have a quip at the ready, but once you notice the way he rubs his forearm you seem to change your mind. It was a trick he picked up from his training with the CIA. “Thank you.” You reply quietly as you run a hand over your hair. 

Naveen enters the room designated for the secret service agents, and once he does, he suddenly mutters harshly under his breath as though he just remembered a forgotten task. As he turns, it looks as if he's about to apologize to him, but instead he turns to you. "My apologies, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I’ll be back in just a moment. ”

Alex sees the way your shoulders drop even though you give Naveen a smile. “It's alright.” The older man rushes off leaving Alex and you together while the other agents barely take notice as they go about their business as they all seem to be intent on whatever it is they're preoccupied with.

You both stand off to the side in awkward silence though he supposes neither one of you can help it. You didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, and he wasn’t one to keep the conversation going if the other party wasn’t interested. 

“Did you just join the secret service?” 

Alex’s gaze flashes to you, noticing you sounded at least somewhat interested. “No. I've been at this for about seven years now.” 

His answer causes you to lift a brow in question. “Don’t you typically stay at a field office during the first six to eight years as a special agent?” 

“Typically, but I was offered this opportunity.” As he keeps his features in check, he notices his reply has left you somewhat satisfied. Your knowledge of the secret service and their training and tactics left him taken aback, to say the least. Then again, you were CIA agent once from the file Laswell provided him, so his shock shouldn’t have come as a surprise. 

You fold your arms in front of you while catching his gaze again. “I hope we’ll get along, agent.” Your tone is light though your expression says otherwise. “You have a lot to live up to.” 

Alex shoves his hands into the pockets of his black slacks before he says, “I know Special Agent Davidson was a veteran when it came to the protective detail.” 

The smile returns to your face, but he notices that this time around, it’s unsure. “Yes, well, my husband has a way of proving his point even when others are not at fault.” 

He decides to leave it at that, taking note of the way your eyes flickered away from his as you turn to face the doorway. Once more, your body tenses up and you look as if you’re completely lost in your own thoughts. Alex doesn’t mind, he knows the secret you’re burdening yourself with even if you’re not aware of his knowledge of it. In the minutes he’s spent in your company, he’s sure of two things: one, that you had perfectly put up walls to prevent others from getting to close. And two, he knows, with every instinct in his being, that you weren’t the type to make up lies for the sake of attention as your body language said differently. 

You were just a victim swept up by the cruel winds of fate.


	2. Showstopper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Be tall._   
>  _Be vigilant._   
>  _Never let them suspect anything different._   
>  _Remember why you’re there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be adding little "mission info" sections I think they're called? I figured it would make the transition from day to day be easier.

**SHOWSTOPPER  
10 August  
"Pandora"  
Washington DC, USA.**

When Naveen pulled you aside the day after Alex’s introduction, he quickly pointed out that you could very well refuse him should you wish. You would be lying if you said you hadn't considered it, especially because Richard had taken the liberty to choose the agent without your input. The thought annoyed you considering this was your detail, and your word should've been the final say. You had pondered on the idea of dismissing Alex to spite Richard, but you figured you'd keep him and make your judgment as time went on. Naveen had been oddly persistent about the matter, but you didn’t want to be rude and dismiss him on no grounds. 

Four weeks passed since then, and although he seemed to be reliable enough, you couldn’t help but feel as though he was just another pair of eyes sent to watch your every move. Regardless, you nor Richard could deny that Alex settled in just fine. For having no experience on a protective detail before he seemed to know what he was doing. He was quick to coordinate schedules even though he was always on the night shift, and whenever you happened to pass by their office he was always glued to the monitor of a computer with his brow furrowed at whatever it was he was looking at. 

Your thoughts suddenly drift to Kate, wondering if she was making any progress on the information you had given her. It wasn’t like her to not get back to you. Once you had resigned, she firmly told you to keep in touch with her, and you had, but she was still silent. 

The ride in the SUV was silent save for the radio playing a song you didn’t care for. Instead, you opted to look out the window, watching the familiar buildings of the nation's capital pass by. It was still early in the morning as rays of gold flickered across the windows of the buildings while people carried on with their morning tasks. All of them, thankfully, unaware that the first lady was passing by. 

Alex was behind the wheel which came as a surprise since he had mostly been on the night shift detail, and when you mentioned to him this morning that you would be leaving for a fitting, he quickly volunteered to drive you to your appointment. His eagerness left you taken aback, but you didn’t refuse. 

“You usually prefer the night shifts.” You break the silence, turning your attention from the window to gaze at the back of his head. Your closed fist rests against the side of your face as you watch him and notice he doesn’t visibly react to getting called out. 

Alex looks at you from the rearview mirror for a second before he turns his eyes back on the road. “I switched shifts with Ortega.” His tone was flat which made you frown.

You watch as he effortlessly turned the wheel, making the action of a simple move seem so hypnotic. His hands smooth over it as it transitions back into place with no trouble at all. 

You snap your eyes back to the window as you say, “I hope you like shopping.” 

“Love it,” Alex answers although this time, humor seeps into his tone. “It’s exactly what I signed up for.” 

“A comedian.” You mutter under your breath, unaware that his gaze lingers on you once again. 

It's not a moment too soon when you arrive at the designer’s small shop. You insisted on having your clothes personally tailored by a longtime acquaintance instead of wearing any high-end clothing. However, because of your frequent business to his shop, he’s suddenly been in high demand thanks to your continued support. 

You breathe a sigh of relief when you realize the shop is closed, and as you quickly climb out you notice Alex is already waiting beside your door. His quick and smooth action had you doing a double-take, frowning when you assumed he was still in the driver’s seat. Alex raises a brow at your expression but says nothing. 

The two of you enter and he’s quick to take the lead and do a thorough sweep before he even attempts to relax. The tension in his shoulders leaves the moment he’s finished, seemingly satisfied that no threats were around. The shop itself was small with many dresses displayed on mannequins of all shapes and sizes. Heavy curtains lined the windows to prevent anyone from looking in. Mirrors lined one wall before a raised platform, and racks upon racks of dresses take up the far end of the shop. Overall, the building is small enough to calm the agent's nerves, knowing that at least he would have every possible entry covered with just him alone.

You eye him as he turns to you. “Carry on.” His words are firm as he positions himself at the doorway you had entered from. 

The hour passes by as you’re fitted for your evening gown, and although your lips are pursed during the process, you still find the time to carry a conversation with Marco regarding his creation. He’s pleased with the way it seems to fit your body, and you were inclined to agree, but as he’s going on about the measurements you find yourself glancing at the silent bodyguard posted by the wall. Alex's posture is rigid as he stands with his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes flash from the windows to the exit as he keeps himself preoccupied with his duties. The whole time you were in the dressing room to this moment, you notice, he never once looks at you. Inwardly you scoff, knowing that it was ridiculous to even think about it. 

“Gloves?” 

You blink and look at Marco. “No, definitely not.” Your nose crinkles at the idea of ever having to wear them. 

He smirks at your reaction. “Well, there goes that idea.” You both share a laugh though Alex remains silent. 

When Marco goes to the back to retrieve more material you find yourself slowly exhaling as you smooth the material out in front of you. This style says everything about you since you chose the color and cut, and as you scrutinize yourself further in the reflection, that same doubt from before creeps back in. It ascends from the darkest corner in the back of your mind, and for the first time since you had stumbled upon the sensitive information, you’re beginning to have your doubts. You knew for a fact that the correspondence between Richard and this “Wolf” character was something not to be taken lightly, and yet, what if there was nothing Kate could do about it? You bite your lip at the possibility, wondering if you should try to get into contact with her. But the more you thought about it the more you knew that waiting it out would have to do for now. 

“Not the right color?” You nearly jump in surprise as you look to find Alex staring right into your eyes. Perhaps focusing to keep them entirely on your face than anywhere else. 

You turn back towards the mirror. “It’s fine.” You reply while lightly scratching your elbow suddenly finding yourself embarrassed by his sudden attention. 

You hear him shuffle his feet but don’t chance another look at him. “When is this gala?” He asks while moving again, and as you glance in the mirror you find him working the kinks out in his shoulders. No doubt stiff from standing proud and tall for so long. 

“Saturday, but you should know that already.” 

He chuckles at your tone, the sound sounding oddly comforting. “Yeah, you’re right. I'm the one responsible for covering the ground floor detail after all.” You don’t have to look at him to tell that he’s looking right at you. You could practically feel his eyes on the back of your head, enjoying this little game you're playing. “I suppose the who’s who will be there.” His voice suggests he sounds anything but enthusiastic, and you find yourself agreeing with his lack of enthusiasm. 

The gala was something Richard had been planning for the past month even though you were the one who had to make all the arrangements. Dignitaries from all over the world would be in attendance which meant security had to be tight. It was a party to stroke his ego no doubt since public favor wasn’t exactly where he wanted it to be at the moment. 

You cock your head to one side at the sudden realization that he was taking over not just your detail, but the entire ground floor of the white house. That usually meant positioning agents at the obvious (and perhaps inconspicuous) entrances to the building. Still, something about the idea seemed off. Though Alex wasn't exactly inexperienced when it came to the secret service and their tactics, you didn't understand why Naveen had left him in charge of not only protecting your life but those around you. 

“You’re gonna be covering all of that?” 

Alex nods. “Naveen wants to take care of the top floors and the outside perimeter. He mentioned that was more time consuming than what I have to deal with.” 

You wondered if he knew that Naveen gave that to Alex because he had his reservations about him. It wasn’t just for the fact that the top floors and surrounding perimeters meant more area to cover, he was right in that regard. Moreover, Naveen knew that should anything go wrong because of Alex then that would mean he would incur not just his wrath but the president’s as well. 

Your lips thin into a line once more as you turn back to face him. “You could...go over what you have planned with me.” 

Alex's face remains impassive, but his eyes are still solely on yours. The feeling of having his attention makes your skin warm and suddenly you find yourself trying not to break eye contact first. It was hard, but the more you stand your ground, the more you realize that his eyes seem to be shining with something you hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps it was a glint of amusement, or something more, you didn’t want to guess further. 

You almost expect him to politely decline, but when he shrugs his shoulders and finally looks away your ears are met with his reply. “Sounds like a good idea.” His tone is not mocking, far from it; he sounds certain at the idea of wanting your final input. 

Marco comes back in not a moment too soon as he holds the piece of fabric up for you to look at. It takes you a couple of seconds to cool down from the initial heat Alex’s attention brought, but suddenly you feel better as you engage excitedly with the designer to adjust the dress to your liking. 

Alex stands a little straighter, and finally, he seems to relax into his role as your bodyguard. 

\---  
**SHOWSTOPPER  
15 August  
"Alex"  
Night of the Gala.  
Washington DC, USA.**

_Be tall. Be vigilant. Never let them suspect anything different. Remember why you’re there._

Kate’s voice echoed in his head, fighting to be remembered and threatening to overwhelm him during this simple task. 

The collar of his white shirt brushed against the stubble on his chin, and for the sixth time that hour he has to adjust it to his liking. He stands apart from the formal guests in the room with his black suit jacket fastened, and the black-tie seemingly constricting his throat from how tight it was. The frown he wears is mainly due to the discomfort in having to wear something so formal. He wasn’t used to having to dress up in a suit like this, and unfortunately for him, this job happened to follow a strict dress code like no other. 

Alex was still adjusting to this role in the secret service, and suddenly he remembers how vastly different it all was compared to the army life. He had to take a crash course in the basics of what the secret service expected from their agents; a course that normally took recruits _months_ to complete. He had to go through marksman training again--had to show them the close combat moves he knew, and even then, they wanted him to improve his techniques to match _theirs_. Months of training had to be learned in weeks which left Alex with only seven hours of sleep each night and no days off. He had to familiarize himself with their terminology and their tactics when it came to the protectees. Hell, Alex had to read up on Richard Fitzgerald’s entire background to get a feel for what he was getting himself into. Though often at times while reading Richard’s classified file his attention drifted to where your picture and file laid just beneath his. 

If this is what it took to get into the SAD, then he hoped the whole damn thing paid off. But for now, he was a soldier; a soldier who followed orders without question, a soldier who risked his life for completing the mission at all costs. 

People, important dignitaries and the like, filled the spacious room while laughing among each other with little regard to anyone else. Food covered each table along with glasses of perhaps the most expensive champagne known to man being filled every hour on the hour. The security detail was spread out among the guests, though much like himself, they were lined up against the walls and entrances to the East Room. Every one of them with their focus on potential threats should they arise on this occasion. Much like him, they too were wearing formal suits as they stood with their backs to the walls with their blank expressions. It was strange to see them like this, knowing that off duty the other agents were quite the characters. Alex had already made friends among some of them while others didn't seem too concerned with getting to know him. That was fine, he didn't like the idea of having to repeat his made-up backstory more than necessary. 

_Be tall._

He stands up a little straighter as Kate's voice pulls him back into the moment, and he looks around while remembering to unclench his jaw as his discomfort threatens to break the façade. 

When she offered him this assignment, she mentioned it would make or break his career. She had been vague in what exactly he was supposed to be looking for, which was highly unusual considering she was quick with details that would serve him in his mission. 

_“Alex,”_ a voice calls in his ear. _“How long are we gonna be standing here still as statues?”_

Alex’s gaze flickers across the room to land on the fellow agent as the man gives a two-fingered salute his way. A small smile spreads across his lips upon hearing his pseudonym before he says, “Could be another hour. Maybe more. We’re here to observe and protect.” 

_“Yeah, yeah,”_ the agent mutters, and Alex can see him shifting from one foot to the other. _“The President’s not even here yet. Talk about making a dramatic entrance.”_

He represses a retort that threatens to spill past his lips as he raises a hand and pretends to adjust the collar of his shirt. “Complaining isn’t gonna make him suddenly appear.” 

The other agent rolls his eyes, and from where Alex can see, the man decides to stay quiet about the topic should their superior be listening in. 

Being drafted as a secret service agent wasn’t a step down from his previous job in the military, but it sure as hell was a lot different. He was always on the move; always with his gun at the ready and his mind coming up with plans to put into action based on the orders he was given. Kate never exactly clarified the reason why she wanted him to start here, and with this mission in particular. A threat to national security would surely be saved for someone already within the ranks of the CIA. Why him? She never clarified, merely stated that should he accept this operation would determine his eligibility in joining SAD. 

He supposed in due time he would get those answers, yet being here among _these_ people unnerved him, to say the least. 

_Be vigilant._

Alex’s eyes survey the area around him again, ignoring the laughter in the crowded room before he settles back on his thoughts. _What the hell am I doing here?_

“Nervous?” His eyes suddenly snap to his right as they settled on yours. “Never been to a formal event before?” 

Alex looks around again before finally replying, “Would you be surprised if I said no?”

Your eyes scan him from head to toe, smirking at his stiff posture. “Nothing about you surprises me very much.” 

He didn’t know whether to accept that as a compliment or not. He’d only known you for roughly about a month now, but even then, the walls you had carefully placed up refused to fall. You were pleasant enough when he joined, but as far as pleasantries went, it was more cordial than anything else. You never asked more about his life and he never offered the information. He was here on a job, nothing more nothing less. 

Yet he’d be lying to himself if he said you didn’t intrigue him. 

Your hand settles on the side of your face, eyes dancing around the other guests with boredom before you turn to him. “Aren’t you wondering who’s who among these fine people?” 

_Never let them suspect anything different._

“Not really,” he admits, finding it easier to withstand his current assignment in your company. “They all look the same to me.” 

One of your eyebrows raises as your lips turn up at the corners. “All of them?” 

His gaze settles back on you as he catches the slight hint of teasing behind your question. “Not you, ma’am.” The words slip past his lips before he can catch them as he notices the way your eyes seem to glimmer in amusement at his hasty response. 

Alex couldn’t understand it. Throughout his time with you, you had been hot and cold with him. Some days, you two would make light conversation but on other days you would barely mumble two words to him. It wasn’t as if he had done anything to warrant your cold shoulder. No, he merely spent his shifts in the office designated to the secret service agents since you rarely left the White House. At the time, he didn’t think much of it, believing perhaps you were exhausted from the endless campaigning you did on behalf of the president. 

\--But at the present, he realizes that you seem to be quite comfortable despite being in his company. 

A smile unabashedly comes about your features as you say, “I’m sorry you’re stuck here babysitting.”

“Could be worse.” His tone is sharp, and his reply is short and to the point, but suddenly he’s keenly aware of how curt it sounded. 

Your lips part slightly, the hand on your face drops as your arms folded in front of you, and your eyes turn away from him as you observe the guests. Silence fills the void between you, but neither he nor you break it. You’re embarrassed from what he can tell, though that wasn’t his intention, and suddenly the progress you two were making was all for naught. 

"I apologize,” he starts, turning to you with a small unsure smile. “I didn’t mean to sound rude.” 

You wave away his concern, though the tension is still very much present. “We’re not exactly the best of company.” 

Alex is about to change the subject—to try and remedy the situation, but he stops as he sees you for the first time. _Truly sees you._ Your dress clings to your form; the color of the satin fabric a wonderful compliment to your complexion. Back at the shop, he hadn’t paid much attention to the dress you were wearing as he was too preoccupied with keeping an eye out for any potential threats. Even when you two had that banter, Alex had always kept his gaze on your face and not allowing it to waver anywhere else. The dress was still very much the same save for the alterations the designer added upon your request. 

Your hair, which was always pulled back, was now freely undone with not a hair out of place. Though you tended to always wear makeup, he notices that for tonight’s gala you opted for a slightly heavier eye shadow with a bold choice of lipstick to match. He had been in your company for a short amount of time, and yet he managed to notice the details that most often overlook. At this realization, he frowns, finding himself at a loss of words. It's true, he noticed your presence as you freely spoke to him, but at the time he was too preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t realize how to put together you were for tonight’s event. 

You turn to look at him, quirking a brow at the stoic expression he has upon his face. “Something wrong?” 

He quickly shakes his head. “No, ma’am.” 

The look on your face says you don’t quite believe him, but you brush it off in favor of a smile. “It was a good idea to spread out the other agents.” You note, inclining your head towards the agent who stood across the room from where Alex was. “Mr. Daniels has settled in quite nicely.” He follows your gaze and he frowns, noticing the agent he had spoken to only moments before you arrived was busy eying the tables of gourmet dishes. He doesn’t look to be observing for any danger at the moment. No, Alex could tell the man was wishing there would be leftovers after this gala was over. Daniels's eyes seemed to be particularly interested in the finger sandwiches from the way he heaved a sigh at their neglected state. 

Alex lifts his wrist to his lips and, with his eyes still trained on the other agent, is about to reprimand him but is stopped suddenly when he feels your hand on his other arm. He's quick to drop his arm as he looks down at you suddenly very aware of how close you are to him. 

“He’s not hurting anyone, agent.” You muse as your hand quickly drops from his arm. “Besides, these people are too into themselves and each other to even notice Mr. Daniels’s wandering eye at the buffet table.” You move to stand next to him again, hands folded in front of you as you go back to surveying everyone else around you. Judging by your expression, you seem to be glad that none of them have taken notice that you’ve entered the room. 

It gives Alex pause as he divides his attention from surveying the room to you. The file Kate had given him mentioned you were once CIA; an intelligence analyst who made it your duty to handle sensitive information whenever it was received—whether it be from surveillance or law enforcement databases. For a time, you had reported directly to her when you were stationed in Pakistan, and Kate noted that you had begun a promising career in your support role. Other notes of interest included your knowledge in international relations, foreign languages, and your attention to detail. That all quickly fell away when Richard ran for the presidency, deciding to step away from your career to help his campaign and win the nomination. 

Someone in the crowd calls to you, and you, in turn, give him a quick smile as you leave his side. 

All heads turn as you walk through the crowd, and suddenly it’s as if they notice you’ve been in the room with them this entire time. You glide across the polished wood floors of the East Room with little effort, passing a smile to the people who greeted you before you join the president's side. Alex's eyebrows furrow, wondering when he appeared. The president’s confidence seems to have swelled to such a degree as soon as you joined him, and yet, you look anything but pleased at the fact. Sure, your smile is perfectly in place as everyone in the room is entranced by his speech. But if there’s one thing Alex has come to realize while within your company, it’s that you know when and how to don the mask to take part in this little masquerade. Your smile was unsuspecting to those who didn’t know the truth about your rocky marriage. 

So, Alex stands at attention once more as his eyes quickly take in everyone inside the room while they’re listening to the president. His eyes flicker over the faces he doesn’t care to remember but quickly stops short when they land on you. Much to his surprise, he finds you looking at him. 

He almost wants to smile apologetically, knowing he was deceiving you in such a way. He shouldn’t be worried about it, and yet, he has to wonder what would happen if you ever found out the real reason why he was there. Surely, you would have to understand, because him being there had to do with you and the concern you raised to Kate. He couldn’t tell you, and for some reason standing in to take the job away from a _real_ secret service agent who wanted to be there seemed all kinds of wrong to him. 

_Remember why you’re there._

He was a soldier still, and even when he finally finished this operation and joined SAD, he would still be a soldier taking orders from another CO. 

“Daniels,” Alex murmurs into his comm, watching as the other agent nods at him to continue. “I’m switching shifts with Johnson. You have the room until she comes in.” 

_“Finally, I get to be El Jefe for once.”_

**“Oh god, let me come with you.”** An agent standing on the far side of the room groans over the comms as Alex throws a smirk towards her. It’s then he remembers that you had been looking at him, and as he turns back, he finds that you were now mingling with the dignitaries. The president’s speech didn’t seem to be that engrossing if he had become distracted so easily. 

He manages to slip out of the doors as he walks out into the hallway. Alex unfastens the button of his collar and loosens his tie slightly as he makes his way down the hall, nodding to the fellow agents in passing, none of them aware that he would be making a small detour before his next post.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I suppose a couple of notes are in order!
> 
> I gave the President a name because it became hard to really just keep using "he" so, I thought, why not just give him the most generic name ever? His appearance (as is yours) is completely up to you. I just gave him (and you kinda) a name to really keep it flowing smoothly for me as I write. 
> 
> This is set about roughly six years prior to the events of Modern Warfare (2019). I wanted to explore how Alex first became involved with the CIA, and the wiki (though take it with a grain of salt) said about six years ago he gave up his military rank and cut himself off from his family to join the CIA. Ten chapters are what I'm aiming for, and who knows? Maybe it'll bleed into a second series that retells the events/story of MW. 
> 
> As the tag says there will be cheating, so I can understand if it might make some people uncomfortable.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed so far! It's been awhile since I've written anything even remotely good. The next chapter is in the works. <3 As always, kudos and comments are appreciated.


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